


Burn It Away

by SwiftEmera



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angry Sex, M/M, make-up sex, married!Olivarry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 14:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5294153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SwiftEmera/pseuds/SwiftEmera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been two hours since they started fighting, and neither Barry nor Oliver can't even remember what the initial argument was about. All Barry knows is that Oliver is in the wrong, and Barry's hardly going to apologise for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn It Away

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspired by the promos, and decided to fic my headcanons ([here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/post/133991947828/excuse-you-they-are-so-married-ugh-look-at) and [here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/post/134007418313/omg-theyre-like-an-old-married-couple)).
> 
> Enjoy!

“You know, when you think about it, this is your fault, really.”

Barry rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. It's been two hours since they started fighting – one and a half hours since Cisco called about the meta on the loose – and if he's being completely honest with himself, he can't even remember what the initial argument was about. All he knows is that Oliver is in the wrong, and Barry's hardly going to apologise for it.

Before he can even whip out a retort, though, another crack of lightning is sent in Oliver's direction, and Barry moves in the speed of light, knocking his husband out of harms way and onto the floor, before whirling to meet the eyes of the meta. “Do you mind? You're kinda interrupting something here,” he quips, although he doesn't quite feel the humour of it himself, so he can't really blame the guy for not showing any amusement on his expression.

“I'm not so sure he appreciated your joke, Bar.” Oliver grumbles, struggling to his feet without even a thank you for saving his damn life.

“Alright, look, we can stand here and argue, or we can actually deal with this guy and go home. Your choice, Oliver.”

“Well, maybe if you-” Oliver starts, but then he raises his head to survey the surroundings, and lets out a frustrated sigh. “ _Shit_.”

When Barry turns to take in the sight, he figures out exactly why.

The guy is gone, and the church is completely _wrecked_. Benches are snapped in half, there are burn marks everywhere from the lightning, and scuffs line the floors. If Hell exists, Barry's pretty sure they're going there for being at least partially responsible for the mess.

“We can split up,” Oliver says, clearly not remotely bothered about the condition of the place. “Case the city. I'll check the rooftops, you search the streets.”

Barry arches his eyebrows in a challenging expression. “Oh, so we're back to you being the decision maker again? And here I thought marriage was going to bring a bit of equality to our partnership. You know, if you'd have just listened to me-”

“-I _do_ listen to you, Barry,” Oliver cuts in, sharp tone cutting through the rest of his sentence. “But sometimes you just... run in blind.”

It's reminiscent of a time not too long ago – back when he was still trying to get a handle on his powers, and Barry can't help but snipe, “Oh, is this the part where you shoot me in the back again?”

Oliver just lets out a frustrated huff, before he turns to stride towards the exit, not even bothering to look back at Barry as he says, “Just be careful.”

The words soften him a little, but not enough to run after the older man and apologise. He still has a bit of pride left, at least. Instead, he bursts from the church in favour of scanning the streets. He's fairly certain it won't take long – the dude's hardly inconspicuous with his giant staff and his dumb goatee.

 

***

 

“He's being ridiculous,” Oliver mutters, eyes sweeping over the side of the rooftop just in time to see a flash of light speed by in the street below. “Show off,” he huffs.

“Okay, Oliver, this is stupid. Can't you just apologise?” Felicity's voice asks through the receiver in his ear, her tone a little clipped.

“For what?” he asks, because honestly, he has no idea what the problem even _is_ anymore.

From what he remembers, they'd been having a perfectly normal conversation at home, Oliver lounging on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table, and Barry lying on his back, his head rested on Oliver's lap while reading one of his dorky fantasy books – and then it had all kicked off out of nowhere, and they were having a shouting match in the middle of their living room, both firing off insults and hurtful comments that neither of them really meant.

“I don't know,” Felicity answers after a little while, cutting through his thoughts. “I just-” she sighs. “I hate it when you guys fight. You love each other, isn't that enough?”

“Tell _him_ that. He's the one that started it,” he grumbles.

“Oh, wow, real mature, Oliver.”

 

***

 

“Dude, you gotta talk to Oliver. Felicity says he's sulking.”

“Typical,” Barry replies, scanning the alleyway. There's a few burn marks on the wall, but he can tell just by looking at them that they weren't made by lightning, and that they're pretty old, in any case – at least a year, if he's reading it correctly. “I'll talk to him when he apologises.”

“For what?” Cisco asks.

“He _knows_ , Cisco.” Barry replies with a huff.

“I don't think he does, dude.”

Barry doesn't think either of them do, but he's hardly going to tell his friend that. He's about to reply with some sort of retort, when Cisco speaks again, a little more rushed this time.”

“Oliver's found him! Better move fast, man. Getting the location now.”

His heart freezes up. Suddenly, it doesn't even matter anymore. His husband is alone and dealing with a crazed meta, intent on frying them both. Being petty can wait until the jerk's safe.

 

***

 

It's not until the guy's being transferred to the meta-human wing of Iron Heights that they even slow down enough to return to their argument. It had all been a mess of lightning and arrows and Barry darting around the rooftop, doing his best to keep his husband from being fried and trying to distract the enemy, so barely a word was said in the conflict save for a few orders and instructions on both parts.

Now that they're back at Star Labs, though, it's a completely different story.

“I told you, I didn't need your help. I was handling him just fine on my own.”

“You call being cornered into a dead-end just fine?” Barry says, rubbing his hands over his face. He'd really thought they'd be over this by now.

The lab is silent around them – Iris and Joe having left already, Caitlin busying herself by typing something furiously at the computer with her headphones blocking out all sound, and Cisco just shamelessly watching them from the chair beside her, eyes darting between Barry and Oliver like he's watching an interesting tennis match.

“I wasn't cornered,” Oliver bites out, pinching between his brows in frustration. “I was about to shoot him. If you hadn't knocked me out the way, he'd have been locked up a lot sooner.”

“He was about to zap you, Oliver.” Barry replies with a sigh.

Oliver lets out a low growl, before turning on his feet, marching towards the exit. “Never get married, Cisco.”

Cisco's eyes widen, and he sends a sympathetic glance Barry's way. And, yeah, okay – that one stings a little.

 

 

***

 

Barry gets home first, obviously, but he doesn't quite know what to do with himself, so he just sinks down onto the couch, head rolling back onto the backrest as he closes his eyes. He's just _done_ with the entire argument, if he's being honest.

It's not until half an hour later that he hears Oliver fiddling with the lock, and the door squeals open – god, they really need to oil the hinges. He stands, preparing himself for the next verbal blowout.

It doesn't come.

Instead, they're locked in a staring match as soon as Oliver enters the room, eyes narrowed, both trying to figure out what to say, when it finally _breaks_.

Barry's not sure which one of them move first, but suddenly, lips are against lips, fingers are tightening in his hair and his back hits the wall with a soft _thud_. Oliver's tongue breaches him – and it's like he's trying to fight – to _conquer_ , and no, Barry's not having that. He lets out a snarl, before pushing Oliver back, a glare set on his face. “No, you don't get to do that.”

Oliver, to his credit, actually looks like he's about to apologise – whether it be for kissing him or for the argument as a whole, Barry's not entirely sure, but he doesn't give him the chance to speak, anyway. He tugs his husband in by his shirt, bringing their lips back together again, taking his own dominant stance now, his fingers tangling into Oliver's hair as he presses in deep. It's not long before Oliver's scooping him up by the back of his thighs, Barry tightening his legs around his waist as he's carried to their bedroom.

They crash down on the mattress clumsily, Oliver rutting into him, tugging at his shirt until it comes over his head and lands in a rumpled heap on the floor, soon joined by the rest of their clothes. No time to waste on a striptease, after all. Once flesh is against flesh, Oliver grinds into Barry, tugging at his hair so that Barry cranes his neck to the side a little, allowing for Oliver to clamp down on the curve with his mouth.

“I'm still- nghh- mad at you,” Barry grits out, writhing below his husband as a trail of wet, bruising marks are trailed down his chest.

Narrowed blue eyes meet his own, a frown set on Oliver's lips. “Good, because I'm still mad at you.”

“Good. Fine.”

“Fi-” Barry starts, cutting off with a sharp gasp as Oliver sucks down on his thigh – a spot where his jerk of a husband _knows_ always renders him useless. “-ine,”

“Turn over,” Oliver tells him, blue eyes piercing him. Barry just glares, but he obliges anyway.

Before he knows it, a lubed finger is circling his hole, sliding in easily – he's still pretty open from last night, really. Oliver still takes the time to stretch him, though, in spite of this, and Barry's fairly positive it's purely to to tease him.

“Just-” Barry gasps as fingers brush with his prostate, making him grind down into the mattress. A snarl escapes him. “Just fuck me, already.”

Oliver grunts, but his fingers leave Barry anyway, and Barry groans desperately into the pillow, his husband letting out an amused huff behind him, which does nothing but rile him up more, because _seriously_ , there's a time and a place to be smug, and this isn't it. The tearing of a packet sounds out behind him, and he's pretty sure Oliver's deliberately taking his sweet time on rolling on the condom, too.

When Oliver crawls back over him, there's a blunt pressure on his hole, and he almost sighs in relief as his husband finally sinks into him in one slow, tantalising motion, until he's completely buried.

“Move,” Barry grits out.

Oliver doesn't reply – but he complies anyway, drawing himself out slowly, before slamming back in with a _smack_ , Barry letting out a surprised yelp as the thrust hits him at exactly the right angle. He wraps his fingers around the bars across their headboard to steady himself as the thrusts increase in speed, Oliver pouring every ounce of anger into them, and Barry groaning and keening below him, the fight beginning to leave him as he just let himself get lost in the pleasure.

It seems to leave Oliver at the same time, because lips nip into the back of his neck – and rather than bruising and claiming, it's almost like a caress. It's gentle and loving. Oliver noses at his chin, and Barry tilts his head a little to allow Oliver more access, which he responds to by licking a thin strip into the newly exposed area.

Without a word, Oliver pulls out, and Barry sinks a little in disappointment until his husband is manoeuvring him on the bed so that his back is on the mattress once more, tilting his face up by his chin and kissing him more gentle this time – an apology that neither man is quite ready to say out loud yet. Fingers trail down his sides, and Barry shudders with delight when Oliver reaches his hips, sliding one hand down the back of his thigh so that he can prop one leg over his arm, allowing him to sink into Barry once more, wrapping his hand around Barry's cock and moving it in time with his thrusts.

It's more vocal this time – both men a little less stubborn, more willing to let the other know just how much they're enjoying it without losing any sense of pride. Oliver's thrusts aren't as harsh – though they're not quite slow, either – it's passionate, loving, yet fast-paced, both men panting and gasping, bodies slick with sweat as they begin to climb to their peaks.

“Oliver, fuck-” Barry groans, his eyes fluttering shut as something inside him seems to erupt, heat creeping from his stomach and bursting into tingles along his entire body as he spills all over Oliver's hand and his own stomach, Oliver pressing his nose into Barry's neck and letting out a choked gasp as he stiffens a little, and he feels Oliver pulse inside him as he fills the condom.

For a few minutes, the world stops spinning - it's just Barry and Oliver, both trying to get their breaths back as they take a few minutes to gather themselves, Oliver still lying on Barry, cock softening inside him, both men bone-heavy and entirely fucked out.

When Oliver slips out and rolls off, Barry lets out a whimper, heart sinking a little as the older man shuffles himself from the mattress – but it's only in favour of disposing of the condom in the bin in the corner of their bedroom and fetching a cloth quickly from their en-suite, returning to swipe it over Barry's stomach, cleaning the mess from him.

Finally, Oliver crawls back onto bed, pulling Barry into his arms and nuzzling his neck. “I'm sorry,” he whispers, and a puff of laughter escapes Barry.

“Do you even remember what we were arguing about?” he asks, closing his eyes and savouring the feel of Oliver warm and pliant against him, running one hand over his smooth chest, a smile lining his lips.

“Not a clue,” Oliver admits, a little sheepishly.

“Me neither,” Barry snorts, pressing a soft kiss to his husband's lips. “But I _am_ sorry. We really are idiots.”

“Yeah,” Oliver agrees with a chuckle. “But at least we have each other.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find me [here](http://smittenvigilantes.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.


End file.
